


Passenger Seat

by rexisnotyourwriter



Series: Before the Flood [2]
Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Cancer, Death, Father-Son Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:45:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5332967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexisnotyourwriter/pseuds/rexisnotyourwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec Hardy gets some upsetting news about his mother while he's away at university.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passenger Seat

He left for university as soon as he could. He was smart enough to get into the few that he applied for and opted for the one farthest from his home town. During the first year he spent away he didn’t come home. He called during the holidays, but he didn’t set foot on Scottish soil until his final exams were done.

The summer came and went, but the sun was still shining as his parents drove him to the train station. His mother wrapped both arms around his wiry frame and cried into his shoulder.

“I’ll be back for Christmas,” he told her.

She’d made him promise to visit at least once.

“Good,” she said, releasing him.

His father put a firm hand on his shoulder and nodded his head goodbye. He nodded back.

 

It was a Saturday in November when his father called. He was almost asleep, using his textbook as a pillow, when the phone bolted him awake.

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Oh, hey Dad.”

Silence.

“Ehm, what’s up?”

He heard him take a slow, deep breath.

“It’s about your mother.”

He felt his heart drop into his stomach and churn the dry toast and coffee he’d called breakfast.

“She’s sick.”

 

He had to wait almost a month until he was done with exams before he could go home. Studying was useless; his brain wouldn’t focus on anything else. His last exam was in the morning. He took the first train back.

The house seemed empty when he got there. It was quiet. There wasn’t the usual bustle of his mother in the kitchen, or his father flipping through channels faster than he could see what the programs were.

He put his bags down and went upstairs. His parents’ door was half ajar; he could see his mother lying down. He slipped through the opening and walked softly towards her. Her rosy complexion had faded. Her mousy brown hair fell limp across the pillow.

He knelt down beside her. She was breathing.

 

She had her second treatment the week after. His father had a business thing up and asked him if he would take her. His father walked out the door as soon as he agreed.

He stuck a handful of ginger candies in his pocket before they left. They helped with the nausea, and she looked queasy before they left.

He could tell she was exhausted but that didn’t stop her from asking him all about school on the drive there, about his classes and his teachers, if there were any lady friends. It was almost a forty minute drive. He was glad for the distraction.

The way home was different. She no longer had the energy to maintain conversation. She tried, but he told her that it was ok. He knew she was doing it to reassure him. He had a habit for worrying and she knew the signs.

The sun was hiding and he could hear the wind whipping against the car. He saw her reach across and turn the fan up, pointing the vent at her face. She was paler than when they’d left.

He fished a couple ginger candies out of his pocket and handed them to her.

“You alright, mum?”

She attempted a smile.

“Fine, dear. The air helps.”

He put a hand in front of the vent. The dial was on as cold as it would go, but it was just blowing air. He shook his head. The AC had been busted since before he left for school and his dad still hadn’t gone and fixed it.

He glanced over at her. Her face was almost green.

He rolled down her window from the control on his side of the door. She leaned her head slightly closer to the side and let the wind brush across her face.

“Better?”

She smiled and nodded.

It was near freezing outside. His knuckles were white from the cold, and from gripping the wheel to keep from shaking.

He rolled down his window too for good measure.

 

He didn’t want to go back to school, but she made him promise to finish the year up, and he did. That summer she recovered, and before he knew it it was August and found himself once again on the train south.

It was a Saturday in November when his father called again. She was sick again. Chemo wasn’t going to do it. He spoke to her on the phone; he wanted to come home.

“Your studies are important,” she told him. “I’ll see you at Christmas.”

She didn’t.

 

It was the last Saturday in November when they buried her. The cemetery was covered in frost that crunched under his feet like bits of glass as him and his father walked back to the car. The flowers were composed of orange lilies, yellow roses, and some other red flowers and greenery, but none were her favourite. No English daisies.

The drive was silent. Neither of them were good with words. His father kept his eyes on the road while he stared out the window at the rows of trees along the side, watching the wind strip their branches of their last remaining leaves.

He rolled the window down all the way and let the breeze beat at his face.

“What the - will you close the damn window?”

He closed his eyes and breathed in the icy air. It felt sharp in his lungs.

“Alec!”

He opened his eyes.

As he rolled the window up a tear escaped from the corner of his eye and down his cheek.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ginger candy. He unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. The wrapper remained enclosed in his fist until they arrived home.

 

 


End file.
